See,
even despite all these wounds
I still think I’m a tribe leader
just one war-painted in blood and scars instead of tribal markings
and I can still host the dance around the bonfire
I can still fuel flames
I can still beat drums, though weaker now,
because if my heart isn’t a skin stretched across a frame
drumming in time to mother nature
providing the rhythm section to the hum of creation
then what is it?